Read Online A Pagan's Nightmare by Ray Blackston - Free Book Online
Authors: Ray Blackston
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got some reading time now if you don’t mind….”
Each time we visited, Rocco would tell me what he was about to sell. Who knew if the deals ever got done? Who knew if Rocco
could even
read?
I decided to test that premise. Behind my desk, I pulled a copy of Larry’s first six chapters and handed the stack to white-toothed,
deal-cutting Rocco. “These pages don’t leave the building, Rock. Got it? I want these back by the time you leave today.”
He clutched them to his chest like a kid with a doll. “Guard it with my life, Nedster. Say, you want some coffee? I’m buyin’
today.”
“The coffee on our floor is free, Rocco.”
“Still, I’ll deliver. Black, right?”
“With one sugar. Thanks.”
An hour later Rocco returned with a black coffee, four sugars, and three creams. He set them on my desk and stood there grinning.
“Please, Ned, this had me giggling in the break room. I got twenty more minutes before I have to drive to Buckhead. Can I
please read a little more?”
I dumped a pair of sugars in my coffee, nodded okay, and watched happy, grinning Rocco ease out of my office with chapter
seven.
7
O YSTER SHELLS CRACKED and popped under the tires of DJ Ned’s Mercedes. On the drive toward the coast Ned and Lanny had bonded like two survivors,
determined to battle a common enemy. Lanny had shared his work debacles, the Atlanta traffic report, and how he feared for
Miranda’s life; Ned had recounted the strange new music, his lack of callers, and the renaming of Devil’s food cake. Now Lanny
gazed through the windshield at the moored vessels of Bluewater Marina, hoping that Miranda was near. He sniffed salt air,
heard gulls caw overhead.
“See her car?” Ned asked. He cut the engine and unlatched his seatbelt.
Lanny said nothing.
Ned waited all of four seconds. “Well,” Ned asked, “do ya see it?”
Lanny climbed out of the convertible, stood near the hood, and scanned the parking lot. He turned slowly, searching every
spot. Finally, he stopped squinting and shook his head.
“She flew down, so she’d have driven her parents’ Explorer. But I don’t see an Explorer anywhere.” Lanny strode toward the
marina and motioned for Ned to follow. “C’mon, let’s search the docks.”
Ned tended to pamper his possessions, especially his car, so he secured the convertible top before hurrying across the oyster
shells in his sneakers. He came up behind Lanny. “My neighbor kept a boat here once,” he offered, not sure what to say but
glad to be in the company of a fellow non-zealot.
They walked out onto the docks and turned left toward a row of impressive charter boats and pleasure craft. Lanny’s equilibrium
tottered when he approached the first four vessels and noted theirnames: the
I’m So Worthy,
the
I’m So Worthy 2,
followed by the
Formal on Sundays,
and the
Formal on Sundays 2.
From the available evidence, a complete maritime conversion had taken place.
“Seein’ a pattern here?” asked DJ Ned, trailing behind and making no effort to hide his sarcasm. “Ain’t no more
Nina, Pinta,
or
Santa Maria.”
“That’s enough, Ned,” Lanny said over his shoulder.
Ned would not shut up. A psychologist had once told him that he was one of those people who relied on empty chatter and humor
to cope with stressful situations. “Looks to me like the zealots beat us to the marina. In fact, it looks like the zealots
now
own
the marina. By now, they probably own the entire planet.”
Ned struggled to keep up with Lanny, who surprised him by stopping and staring at the empty fifth slip. Below him were just
docile waters and barnacled posts.
“What’s the matter?” Ned inquired. “You were expecting an agnostic boat?”
Lanny stared out to sea and saw nothing but gentle whitecaps under a blue sky. “Slip number five was where Miranda’s parents
kept their charter.”
“What was its name?” Ned inquired.
“They named it for their first
Each time we visited, Rocco would tell me what he was about to sell. Who knew if the deals ever got done? Who knew if Rocco
could even
read?
I decided to test that premise. Behind my desk, I pulled a copy of Larry’s first six chapters and handed the stack to white-toothed,
deal-cutting Rocco. “These pages don’t leave the building, Rock. Got it? I want these back by the time you leave today.”
He clutched them to his chest like a kid with a doll. “Guard it with my life, Nedster. Say, you want some coffee? I’m buyin’
today.”
“The coffee on our floor is free, Rocco.”
“Still, I’ll deliver. Black, right?”
“With one sugar. Thanks.”
An hour later Rocco returned with a black coffee, four sugars, and three creams. He set them on my desk and stood there grinning.
“Please, Ned, this had me giggling in the break room. I got twenty more minutes before I have to drive to Buckhead. Can I
please read a little more?”
I dumped a pair of sugars in my coffee, nodded okay, and watched happy, grinning Rocco ease out of my office with chapter
seven.
7
O YSTER SHELLS CRACKED and popped under the tires of DJ Ned’s Mercedes. On the drive toward the coast Ned and Lanny had bonded like two survivors,
determined to battle a common enemy. Lanny had shared his work debacles, the Atlanta traffic report, and how he feared for
Miranda’s life; Ned had recounted the strange new music, his lack of callers, and the renaming of Devil’s food cake. Now Lanny
gazed through the windshield at the moored vessels of Bluewater Marina, hoping that Miranda was near. He sniffed salt air,
heard gulls caw overhead.
“See her car?” Ned asked. He cut the engine and unlatched his seatbelt.
Lanny said nothing.
Ned waited all of four seconds. “Well,” Ned asked, “do ya see it?”
Lanny climbed out of the convertible, stood near the hood, and scanned the parking lot. He turned slowly, searching every
spot. Finally, he stopped squinting and shook his head.
“She flew down, so she’d have driven her parents’ Explorer. But I don’t see an Explorer anywhere.” Lanny strode toward the
marina and motioned for Ned to follow. “C’mon, let’s search the docks.”
Ned tended to pamper his possessions, especially his car, so he secured the convertible top before hurrying across the oyster
shells in his sneakers. He came up behind Lanny. “My neighbor kept a boat here once,” he offered, not sure what to say but
glad to be in the company of a fellow non-zealot.
They walked out onto the docks and turned left toward a row of impressive charter boats and pleasure craft. Lanny’s equilibrium
tottered when he approached the first four vessels and noted theirnames: the
I’m So Worthy,
the
I’m So Worthy 2,
followed by the
Formal on Sundays,
and the
Formal on Sundays 2.
From the available evidence, a complete maritime conversion had taken place.
“Seein’ a pattern here?” asked DJ Ned, trailing behind and making no effort to hide his sarcasm. “Ain’t no more
Nina, Pinta,
or
Santa Maria.”
“That’s enough, Ned,” Lanny said over his shoulder.
Ned would not shut up. A psychologist had once told him that he was one of those people who relied on empty chatter and humor
to cope with stressful situations. “Looks to me like the zealots beat us to the marina. In fact, it looks like the zealots
now
own
the marina. By now, they probably own the entire planet.”
Ned struggled to keep up with Lanny, who surprised him by stopping and staring at the empty fifth slip. Below him were just
docile waters and barnacled posts.
“What’s the matter?” Ned inquired. “You were expecting an agnostic boat?”
Lanny stared out to sea and saw nothing but gentle whitecaps under a blue sky. “Slip number five was where Miranda’s parents
kept their charter.”
“What was its name?” Ned inquired.
“They named it for their first
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